


Empty

by AngelycDevil, StarryEyedShields



Series: Stucky Flashathon 2k15 [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky - Freeform, Canon, Gen, I'm so sorry, STEVE MY BABY, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 06:57:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3318212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelycDevil/pseuds/AngelycDevil, https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarryEyedShields/pseuds/StarryEyedShields
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in Captain America: The First Avenger – the night Bucky dies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty

**Author's Note:**

> I feel obligated to inform you that I sobbed writing this. It has a lot of feels.  
> This is not beta'd.  
> Based on: http://kaciart.tumblr.com/post/85376108628

None of them have said a damn word since Gabe and Cap showed up at the rendezvous point…without Bucky. They took one look at Cap’s face and they all knew. No one asked how. It doesn’t matter. He’s gone. They file into the trucks in complete silence, shoving Zola into the front seat with Jim, habitually leaving an empty space to Cap’s left.

They all notice it at the same time.

Cap freezes, jaw clenched, eyes glistening, and a slight tremor runs down his spine.

The remainder of the drive back is a tense and solemn affair. They have Zola, but they’ve lost so much more. They go in to report to Phillips as a team. Peggy’s eyes flies to Steve the moment she realizes who is missing.

The entire office comes to the standstill the moment Dugan voices their loss. Everyone knew Bucky Barnes in one manner or another. He was a witty charmer, Cap’s right-hand man, one of the best snipers the team has ever seen.

A pen clatters to the floor, shattering the shocked silence that soaked the room.

In that precise moment, a horrible realization washes over Steve.

He’ll never see Bucky again.

Bucky’s… _gone_.

One step backward has him colliding with Falsworth who instinctively steadies him, but Steve doesn’t notice as he walks out of the room.

A voice asks if he’s alright and he forces his lips to widen and his head to nod before turning away.

He doesn’t allow himself to fall apart. He can’t, not here. Not yet.

He stumbles into a wall as the edges of his vision darken. He takes a deep breath and another. His lungs haven’t screamed for air in so long.

Bucky isn’t here to count with him. He doesn’t have Bucky’s heartbeat to ground him.

A twisted cry escapes his lips and he bolts.

He doesn’t know where he’s going until he finds himself in their tent, surrounded by their things, their smell, their memories.

Steve sinks to the ground near Bucky’s cot, shivering against the empty. His gaze lands on Bucky’s unmade bed, always messy, Steve hates it, Bucky likes bugging Steve, and he can almost see Bucky amongst the sheets, grinning at him as Steve rants at him. He sees the fondness in Bucky’s eyes, the curl of his lips, the pale of his arms as he runs his fingers through his moppy hair.

_Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe._

_Bucky can’t be—he needs—I, I, please! Bucky. Please. I can’t breathe. You can’t go._ You promised. _You promised. You can’t leave me._

Steve sees him, skinny, bloody, screaming at him for being “the stupidest sonuvabitch in all of Brooklyn”.

Steve sees him, tipsy, laughing and twirling on the dance floor with some pretty girl he just met.

Steve sees him, eyes red-rimmed, staring at a piece of paper in his hand, the stamped acceptance on his enlistment form.

_But you didn’t leave me, did you?_

_You didn’t leave me. I let you fall. I let you fall._

_I’m sorry. I’m so goddamn sorry, Buck._

_I did this to you._

_I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t jump after you. I’m sorry I’m so selfish. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. Buck—_

A throat clears behind him. “Steve, Colonel Phillips wants to see you in his office.”

He’s shaking his head before Peggy can finish her sentence. “No. No, no—”

“Okay,” Peggy replies softly and leaves, the click-clack of her heels fading, and Steve can’t bear to stay here anymore. This base, this war, _destroyed_ them, and he can’t do this anymore. He can’t—He can’t be here. He can’t breathe here.

Bucky is _everywhere._

So, he runs.

He runs until he doesn’t recognize a single building he passes, until he is far, far away from everything he’s known for the past few months.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He’s not supposed to be here, to be alive, to be alive without Bucky.

The doctors gave him ten years. Every breath he has taken after that has been on borrowed time. He’d lost count of the amount times he’s cheated death. Every winter, every cold turned fever, every time he stood up for himself…and Bucky was by his side through it all. He cooked for Steve, took up every extra shift to cover rent and medical bills, jumped in the middle of countless fights to make sure Steve didn’t get hurt. He continued to take care of Steve even after the transformation, when Steve wasn’t on the edge of death every damn day. Every time Bucky slipped him a sandwich, fully knowing that Steve had forgotten breakfast. Every time Bucky dressed his wounds because Steve hated doctors. Every life he ended so Steve didn’t have to.

Bucky had given him the world and he just took, took, took everything and gave nothing back.

Steve runs his hand over his eyes and it’s only then he realizes that he has Bucky’s jacket in his arms. He muffles the scream that flies out him.

_He keeps taking._

He inhales deeply and swallows his disgust. He makes sure his suit is covered before ducking into the closest bar. He slides a crumpled bill across the counter and manages to give his order. The bartender hands him a bottle and bides him a good night, but Steve is already halfway out the door.

Keeping his mind carefully empty, he gulps the bitter liquid down, pausing every once in a while to let the alcohol mix into his blood, but it never does. He goes back, buying three bottles this time and the bartender, _James_ , looks at him questioningly. He decides to find another bar next time.

Walking along the pier, Steve guzzles the contents of two bottles with a matter of minutes and it doesn’t make a damn difference. Every swallow brings him closer to a desperation he hasn’t felt in a long time because he _needs this._

 _…_ because every thought is about Bucky and his heart feels like it’s being run over by a fucking tank because this is sowrong.

…because it’s the end of the line and he’s still alive.


End file.
